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My, She's Shy
I took my daughter Molly with me to a party once.
She didn't know anyone there. Everyone was very
nice. They told Molly how nice she looked. They
told her how much she had grown. They asked her
questions. Molly said nothing. She turned her head.
She clearly did not want to be there. A woman
offered a well meaning explanation, "Oh, she's just
shy." I could feel Molly shrink further inside
herself. I shrank too. I was both embarrassed and
angry, but I wasn't sure why.
Since then I have observed this scenario
frequently when children are introduced to adults.
Often it is the child's own parent who, in
embarrassment, labels the child shy. It makes me
wince inside.
Some kids thrive on new attention and are
amazingly gregarious. Recently a youngster I just
met said "Hello" to me by launching himself onto my
back and scrambling up my neck to ride on my
shoulders. But the majority of children clam up
when suddenly placed under the spotlight. The
younger ones often look like they are trying to
burrow into their parent's leg (if standing) or
armpit (if being carried).
Isn't shyness normal? Personally, I usually feel
reserved when I first meet new people, but I don't
want my spouse explaining to everyone we meet that
it is because I am shy! I want my
self-consciousness to be implicitly understood.
Given how strange some people can be, perhaps it is
even wise to choose to observe for a while before
you start to interact.
I worry about the effect that being labeled
"shy" has on Molly's, or any child's, self esteem.
I worry about it enough that I am almost ready to
punch the next person who calls Molly shy in her
presence.
I have to question the strength of my reaction.
I don't think people mean harm when they call a
child shy. I think I react strongly because I have
bought into the notion that shy equals bad, and
gregarious equals good. I learned this in my
family. My oldest sister, Melissa, started a career
of public service by getting elected to a large
city school board when she was twenty-two years
old. This was very, very good. "We can all feel
proud," the family said.
My second sister, Cindy, didn't leave the house
much after she got married. She either spent her
time with her daughter or stayed in her art studio.
This was not very impressive. "Did we do something
wrong?" we wondered.
Years ago they used to ask me, their little
brother, who my favorite sister was. As a five year
old I only knew about how they treated me. My
favorite sister of the week was the one who let me
stay up late when Mom and Dad were out.
But the world seemed to favor the extrovert. I
watched as Melissa, who sought attention, got lots
of it. She made Ms. Magazine's "Eighty Women to
Watch in the Eighties" list, though that's about
where she peaked. And I watched as Cindy, who was
shy, was ignored. In high school people would meet
her and say, "Oh, so you are Melissa Hartnett's
sister. Melissa is quite a dynamic young woman! You
must be proud of her." Cindy was not. She was sick
with envy, and felt hopelessly upstaged. No wonder
she began to prefer to stay home.
Now I find myself hoping Molly will be
gregarious, and ashamed of her when she is not. But
when I remember Cindy's pain I catch myself. I try
to see her as she is: a fluid human being who
responds to her surroundings in many different
ways. When she is unsure of what is going on she is
reserved, observant, and discerning,. When she
feels safe, she is assertive, expressive, and
engaging.
But please don't ever call her shy.
© 2007, Tim
Hartnett
Other Father Issues,
Books
* * *
Your children need your presence more than your
presents. - Jesse Jackson
Tim
Hartnett, Ph.D. is a licensed Marriage and Family
Therapist in private practice in Santa Cruz, CA. He
specializes in Individual Counseling, Couples
Therapy, and Divorce Mediation. He can be reached
at 831.464.2922 or through his website:
www.TimHartnett.com
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